[ It doesn't occur to him that it's kind of a loaded answer until he reads it back a second later, and now it's his turn to awkwardly divert the conversation. ]
None. I fear that because of the strange fluctuations of time, I do not know when his true birthday is vis-a-vis the date on the ship. I am simply setting the issue of dates aside and instead seeking to have some celebration of him.
[ It's not that he doesn't trust himself in the kitchens. Or it's not completely that, anyway. More like he can barely deal with the light from the comms device and the sounds that creep in through the door, so venturing out to the more populated corners of the ship seems like a bad call. ]
[ A few months ago, no. But the filters that would've told him to keep it to himself then are gone, so there isn't much hesitation when he replies: ]
I haven't had my leg for a year and it feels like they just cut it off yesterday. I don't know which one's real, but it doesn't really matter. Knowing won't make it stop. Neither will talking.
[ It isn't meant as a rejection. He realizes belatedly that it kind of looks like one, and the follow-up comes a few seconds later. ]
[ That earns a short laugh. Very sensible reply, all things considered. There's a slight delay, though it's just for digging through memories. ]
It's been over a year. I lost it after the 74th Games.
[ That's progress, right? Still doesn't really matter, but at least the memory feels solid. Peeta has zero interest in going anywhere near the medbay. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
giggles
[ It doesn't occur to him that it's kind of a loaded answer until he reads it back a second later, and now it's his turn to awkwardly divert the conversation. ]
What kind of cake?
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Chocolate, perhaps. If that is doable.
laughs at edgeworth politely ignoring murder confessions
Sure. People got supplies from that colony, right?
What's it for?
god he hates his life
A birthday
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Yours?
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Thanks.
When is your friend's birthday?
[ Not prying, just you know, getting a deadline. ]
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I am not certain.
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But you have some idea, right? Soon? In a few weeks?
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Can it wait until after the jump?
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I just think it'd be better if I waited.
[ It's not that he doesn't trust himself in the kitchens. Or it's not completely that, anyway. More like he can barely deal with the light from the comms device and the sounds that creep in through the door, so venturing out to the more populated corners of the ship seems like a bad call. ]
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I'm just not in the mood for baking right now. I'll be fine in a few days.
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...doesn't know how to do this. He feels like he is obligated to ask the question:]
Is it something you would care to talk about?
[But he does so uncertainly, nervously.]
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I haven't had my leg for a year and it feels like they just cut it off yesterday. I don't know which one's real, but it doesn't really matter. Knowing won't make it stop. Neither will talking.
[ It isn't meant as a rejection. He realizes belatedly that it kind of looks like one, and the follow-up comes a few seconds later. ]
But thanks for the offer.
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A medical professional could tell you how long your leg has been gone.
do you want to keep this going or do a post-jump cake log xoxo
It's been over a year. I lost it after the 74th Games.
[ That's progress, right? Still doesn't really matter, but at least the memory feels solid. Peeta has zero interest in going anywhere near the medbay. ]
I'll call you after the jump, Edgeworth.
cake log